I had gone for a physical two weeks ago and have had a hard time getting a hold of someone at the doctor's office who would give me the straight dope on the situation.
Anyone who has read this blog (or just seen me in public) knows that I'm no health nut. Little exercise. A diet of sugar and grease. A family history of cancer and diabetes. Every Swiss Roll brings me one step closer to an early grave.
In a way, I sort of hoped they would find something wrong with me. It would finally give me an excuse to correct my bad habits. Year after year I swear I'm going to change my ways, and year after year I fail. A grim dose of reality at the hands of a concerned physician would leave me no choice but to shape up or prepare to die.
I held the phone to my ear expecting bad news.
"Everything is normal."
"Say what?"
"Cholesterol is good. Glucose is good. You are in perfect health."
"You wouldn't know that by looking at me," I said.
The nurse stiffled her laughter.
She read some meaningless numbers off to me but what it all added up to in the end is that my self-destructive ways have not yet gotten the better of me.
How can that be possible?
Perhaps my body is so used to running on pure garbage that it has actually adapted in order to survive. This would explain why I’ve felt so ill on those rare occasions when I've eaten salad greens. My digestive system is no longer capable of processing them. It has been re-equipped to extract nutrition from Friendly's SuperMelts, Reese's peanut butter cups and cheap whiskey. It takes what it needs and then flushes the sugars and bad cholesterol out my back door with little hesitation.
I guess all those trips to the bathroom is actually my body protecting itself from that which can damage it. Amazing. The ability to adapt is what has kept this species around for all these millions of years. I am merely the next step in humanity's evolution.
What worries me is that once the news gets out of my special ability the government scientists will come calling for me. They will want to dissect me and find out what makes me tick in hopes of putting an end to the obesity epidemic sweeping this nation. I'll constantly be on the run, like Drew Barrymore in Firestarter, desperate to live a normal life and not wind up a human guinea pig for the CIA.
I think I'll celebrate the good news by treating myself to a Filet O' Fish and one of those chocolate pies they sell at the gas stations (mmmm... beef tallow). No point messing with a winning formula. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.
0 comments:
Post a Comment